


like a heartbeat drives you mad

by retweet_this



Series: see on both sides [1]
Category: Pod Save America (RPF), Pundit & Broadcast Journalist RPF (US)
Genre: Fuck geography, M/M, One Night Stands, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-08 03:41:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14096427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/retweet_this/pseuds/retweet_this
Summary: that’s just how life goes sometimes.





	like a heartbeat drives you mad

It’s kind of funny to Mike how quickly he and Emily become friends, especially since they’d barely ever spoken to each other before the exposé. Something about taking down a prominent news anchor due to a sexual harassment scandal must really bring people together.

Mike burns the roof of his mouth as he takes a sip of his coffee, but he swallows anyway. “I’ve been told by a friend that I’m not using Instagram right.”

“Really?” Emily hums. She doesn’t pause in her typing as she replies. “Do you take a lot of pictures of your food?”

“No?” Mike furrows his brow. He sets the empty mug down on the desk and leans back a little, frowning slightly. “People still do that?”

She nods. “It’s all they do, some of them.”

“Huh.” He never really got that whole trend – why would you show off pictures of your food, however delicious it looks? To make other people jealous because they’re not eating while you are? Seems a bit needlessly cruel.

He’s debating whether or not to voice this opinion aloud (he and Emily are “friends” but are they _friends_?) when there’s a loud groan somewhere from a cubicle behind them. They turn around at the same time.

“Shit,” Jodi sighs, holding her phone in one hand and pinching the bridge of her nose with the other. “ _Shit_.”

Mike knows one of them is supposed to ask but Emily beats him to the punch. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s a thing at my daughter’s school and I completely forgot I had a meeting today with...” Jodi pauses for a moment, eyeing Mike carefully. “You’re not busy right now, are you?”

“Nope,” Mike says, because he’s not and there’s no reason to lie about it. “What do you need?”

She gestures him over and he hops off the desk, dusting off his pants as she grabs a folder and holds it out. “There’s a coffee shop a couple of blocks down the road, I’ll text you the address,” she says. “You’re gonna go there and you’re going to personally deliver this to Ronan Farrow.”

“Ronan Farrow, got it,” Mike repeats. He tries to pull back the files but Jodi doesn’t let go just yet.

“You do know who that is, right?” she asks.

Mike scoffs a little. “Of course I know who he is.” Of course he does. He read the New Yorker article, he’s watched NBC News a couple of times. Maybe too intently. Why is he thinking about this right now? He clears his throat. “Uh, so, uh, you want me to deliver these personally and not hand them to an intern?”

“Well,” Jodi says, corners of her lips quirking, “I wouldn’t want to pull them away from their important work while you’re sitting on your ass doing nothing.”

“That is a fair point,” Mike concedes, trying to stifle his smile when he hears Emily laughing.

“I know it is.” Jodi gives him a gentle clap on the shoulder as he leaves, giving Emily a short wave before heading out the door.

He ends up going a good couple of blocks in the wrong direction before Jodi finally texts him the address and then it’s a quick jaunt to the shop. It’s a little chilly out for this time of year, wind blowing against his cheeks as he keeps the folder tucked under his arm.

Ronan is easy enough to spot, sitting inside by the window with a cup in his hands. Mike knows it’s him but he steps up and asks anyway. “Ronan Farrow?”

He looks up and raises a brow. “Wow, Jodi, you’ve sure changed.” There’s a slight beat where Mike doesn’t know what to say but then Farrow laughs and shakes his head. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. She texted me and told me you were coming. Mike Schmidt, right?”

“That’s me,” Mike says. He slides into the seat across from Ronan and watches him nod slowly.

“You broke the Comey memo story, right?” he asks. “That was quite impressive reporting.”

“Ah, well, you know,” Mike shrugs, a little sheepishly, “sometimes good sources drop great scoops right into your lap.”

Ronan chuckles. “Tell me about it.” He brings his cup to his lips and takes a long sip, and Mike doesn’t realize he’s just sitting there watching him drink until his arm shifts and the folder nearly slips out from underneath.

“Oh, right,” he pulls it out and sets it on the table. “The, uh, reason I came here.” He pushes it toward Ronan who raises his brows.

“I was just about to ask what that folder was under your arm.”

“Yeah,” Mike nods, smiling a little as he shrugs again. “It’s, uh, kind of hard to miss, isn’t it?” His chuckle sounds about as awkward as he feels and he should probably say his goodbyes before he embarrasses himself further. Instead, he clears his throat. “So, are you writing a follow-up to the Weinstein story?”

“You wanna know so the Times can scoop me on this, too?” This time Mike gets the joke and he can’t resist a roll of his eyes when Ronan laughs again. “I’ll send you a link when it’s done, if you’re interested. Jodi gave me your number – she was under the impression you would get lost on your way here.”

“Of course she was,” Mike laughs and wow, it’s _really_ hot here, isn’t it? For whatever reason, he feels the tips of his ears burning up and he’s laughing way too loudly for a joke made at his own expense. “All right, I should probably let you get back to work.”

“Yeah, I should probably do that too,” Ronan says. He stands up when Mike does and takes his hand when he extends it, giving it a short shake. “Nice meeting you, Mike.”

“You too,” Mike nods. Crap, are his hands sweaty? Why would they be sweaty, he hasn’t done anything. Why is he overthinking a handshake? Stop that. “I’ll, uh, see you around.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“And then I just left,” Mike finishes. He shrugs, shortly and quickly, hands firming around the controller to dodge a couple of bullets.

“And _then_ you freaked out about it for the rest of the week,” Tim finishes for him. He rolls his eyes and tries ducking out of the way when Mike elbows his side. “Hey, you’re supposed to be covering me!”

“I am,” Mike says. He straightens himself out and stares at the TV but that’s not at all what he’s thinking about. “I just – I mean, I wasn’t too weird, was I?”

“I don’t know why you’re worked up about this,” Tim asks, pausing a moment as he tries attacking a couple of enemy players. “It’s way too late for you to change who you are.”

It takes a few seconds for Mike to realize that’s a dig and he sticks his elbow out again, bumping against Tim’s as they both laugh. They don’t last much longer in that round, a grenade taking them out at the same time.

“Oh, look at that,” Mike huffs, falsely angry, as he sets his controller aside, “you made us lose. Again.”

Tim rolls his eyes again and waves a hand dismissively. “That’s only because your phone’s vibrating in your pocket and it distracted me.”

“It is?” Mike quickly fishes it out of his pocket and, sure enough, he’s getting a call from an unknown number. “Didn’t even notice.” He slides his finger across the screen as Tim gets up beside him, presumably to grab another beer, and leans back into the couch. “Hello?”

“Hello?”

It takes him a few seconds to place the voice. “Wait – Ronan?”

Ronan takes a couple more seconds to recognize him in turn. “Oh, Mike, you were the last person I wanted to call.”

Mike can’t help the short laugh that escapes his throat, nor the slight blush of embarrassment that’s expanding all across his face. “Wow,” he manages. “That’s, uh, that’s kind of harsh.”

“I just meant that you weren’t who I was trying to reach,” Ronan says quickly, a little apologetic but still plenty light. He has a really youthful voice, Mike realizes, offhandedly. It’s more stark when you saw him face to face but even on the phone, it’s pretty clear – he has a really nice voice.

He realizes he’s zoning out and quickly comes back to the present. “Right, yeah, I get that,” he says, right as Tim slides back into the room and gives Mike a wide and surprised look. He tries to shoo him away.

“Well, since I’ve got you, I might as well ask,” Ronan starts. For a split second, Mike feels his heart thunder in his chest and for whatever reason, every single moment of high school replays in his mind’s eye.

“Ask what?”

“What’s your favorite movie about journalism?”

Oh. That’s not what he expected. Not that he really expected anything. Stop thinking. “Oh,” he says. He swallows and thinks about it for a moment. “Well, uh… I don’t really have a favorite at the moment…”

“But if you had to pick one?”

Tim sits down right next to him, looking at him expectantly. Mike tries not to squirm under his gaze as he thinks of an answer. “Well, uh… when we were writing the Bill O’Reilly story, Emily and I watched Spotlight a couple of times.” He realizes that sounds a little stupid and immediately moves to elaborate. “Well – the _real_ story, Emily wanted to emulate for our reporting, and, uh, I suggested we watch the movie and, uh…”

He trails off, only because Tim is giving him a look that screams, _you absolute nerd,_ and it’s a damn good thing they’re best friends or Mike would really be ashamed of how hard he’s blushing right now.

Ronan doesn’t seem to notice. “Spotlight,” he repeats, thoughtfully. “I guess that could work. It’s on Netflix, yeah?”

“Last I checked.”

“Sounds good. Thanks for your time, Mike.”

“Anytime,” Mike says, right before Ronan hangs up. He looks down, just to put his phone in his pocket, only to look back up and see Tim’s smug, shit-eating grin.

“So,” he hums, “I think I’ve figured out why you were _so_ nervous talking to Ronan Farrow.”

“Hand me my beer so I can throw it in your face.” He rolls his eyes when Tim laughs, snatching the bottle out of his hand and taking a long sip before grabbing the controller again. “Come on, let’s play.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Maggie’s back in town so Mike works with her that day, side by side in their cubicles, mostly in silence but sometimes letting out loud groans and grumbles and peeking over to see what the other is doing.

He doesn’t realize he’s been staring at the same paragraph for half an hour before she pointedly clears her throat and says, “That’s kind of a minimalist article you’re writing there.”

“Oh, is it?” he blinks a couple of times and rubs his eyes. “Ugh, fuck, I stayed up late last night doing some calls and now I can’t write the damn article I need to write.”

“So instead of getting up and moving around and getting your creative juices flowing, you decided to sit there and will the article into existence?”

“Well, when you put it _that_ way…” he chuckles a little and leans back in his seat, sighing softly. “Yeah, you’re right. I should maybe take a walk or something. Get the blood flowing and my brain working.”

“Maybe you should take a walk to that one bakery I like and bring me back a bagel.” She shrugs when he looks at her. “I mean, you’re going out already, might as well.”

He rolls his eyes as he stands up, pulling his jacket off of the chair and sliding it on. “You’re lucky I’m so nice to you,” he says in a huff but he can’t keep the laughter out of his tone.

“I love you too,” she replies. She doesn’t even look up from her screen when she blows him a kiss as he walks by, but it still feels sweet.

It’s not as cold out as it should be this time of year – thanks a lot, global warming – but he still walks with his hands in his pockets, aimlessly ambling through the streets and wondering if he should get a bagel for himself when, suddenly, he trips and walks right into –

“Oh, fuck, Ronan, I’m so sorry!”

“It didn’t spill, it didn’t spill,” Ronan says quickly, raising his hands. He gestures with the one holding his cup, lid intact and drink safely contained. “But, uh, hey, funny running into you, huh?”

“Yeah,” Mike nods, chuckling a little. He clears his throat. “Yeah, funny how that happened. What’re you up to – besides, you know, getting coffee.”

“Writer’s block,” Ronan admits. He shrugs. “It’s a difficult subject to be writing about and sometimes I run out of words for what needs to be said, so I just need a moment to get out of my head and let it all flow back.”

Mike blinks. “Wow,” he says. “I was just out here to get a bagel.”

Ronan actually loses his footing a little when he laughs, taking a step back as he leans forward and covers his mouth with his hand. “Oh, wow, I sound fucking pretentious in comparison, don’t I?”

“No, no, not at all,” Mike says. “I just sound like a shmuck next to you.” He chuckles a little, looking down at his feet for a moment as he thinks of what to say next. “Hey, when you called me a while ago, about movies – was that also to get out of your head?”

“Oh, no, I was having a…” he pauses, then shakes his head. “No, it was something else, but going to the movies to get out of my head sounds like a pretty good idea right about now.”

“Yeah, it really does,” Mike nods. “Just some good ol’ fashioned escapism. Plus there are a couple of good movies out right about now.”

“My friend’s been begging for me to watch the Florida Project so he can talk to me about it.”

Mike thinks of Adam and Tim and lets out a short laugh. “Yeah, I know how that feels.”

There’s a pause, they both look away from each other and then at each other, and then Ronan says, “I can buy the popcorn if you buy the tickets?”

“Only if you’re buying drinks, too,” Mike says, and smiles when Ronan laughs again.

He drops the bagel right next to Maggie’s keyboard as he walks past and into his own seat. She lifts her head and pushes her seat back to glare at him properly. “I asked for this hours ago.”

“Sorry about that.” Mike shrugs off his coat and sets it behind his chair. It still smells strongly of butter and semi-stale popcorn. He might never get that scent out. “I caught a movie.”

“You caught a movie,” she repeats. She opens her mouth, then closes it, shaking her head and going back to her phone. By all accounts, probably the right reaction.

He cracks his fingers a little and starts typing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He’s at Tim’s when he gets the text. They’re not gaming this time, but there is a game happening and they’re gonna watch it together because they’re the only ones without lives or prior commitments.

“Sometimes I think we’re the only ones in our friend group and we only hang out with each other,” Tim says from the kitchen, around the clatter of silverware.

“Increasingly, I’m thinking that’s not a good thing,” Mike replies as he slides his phone open.

 _Hey, Mike_ , Ronan types, _sorry for the last-minute message, but would you mind joining me for dinner with two of my friends? I understand if you’re busy but I wouldn’t want to be a third wheel._

Well now that’s… _something._ Very flattering that Ronan would think to text him when he needs a dinner date but that’s probably for the same reason he and Tim are having a game night alone. He’s got his apologetic reply ready in his head and is just about to type it out when his phone is pulled out of his hands and Tim sends his message instead.

“Sounds like fun, just send me the address,” he reads as he types, pushing down Mike’s head with his elbow. “And, sent.” He drops the phone right into Mike’s lap as Mike tries to grab his arm.

“Hey, that – that – okay, _first_ of all,” he huffs, “that didn’t sound anything like me!”

Tim shrugs. “Eh, well, doesn’t matter, you’re still going on that date.” He starts walking and Mike shouts after him, “It’s not a date, there are gonna be two other people there!”

“Double date, then,” Tim shouts back. “Hey, we’re about the same size, right? You think Ronan would notice if you’re wearing a cheap tie?”

Mike scrambles to his feet and runs to the bedroom but a couple of hours later, he’s stepping inside a semi-fancy restaurant in mostly Tim’s clothes, trying not to vividly remember every single awkward date he’s had in his life.

Not that this _is_ a date. He just doesn’t want it to be an awkward… not-date. (“Not-date,” wow, you write for the New York Times and you come up with shit like that.)

Ronan catches his eye and gestures him over, introducing him to two people that look like they’re fresh out of college. Fuck, was everyone in Ronan’s orbit eternally youthful? He smiles awkwardly as he sits beside him.

“Hey, guys, here’s Mike,” Ronan says. “Mike, this is, well,” he lets out a short chuckle, “my _very_ good friend Jon Lovett and his employee-slash-friend –”

“Friend-slash-employee,” one of them – Jon – corrects. Mike swears he knows this guy from somewhere but for the life of him, he can’t place the face or the name.

“Friend-slash-employee, Elijah,” Ronan finishes. Elijah inclines his head politely and smiles. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” Mike says. He’s about to ask, well, something – probably, _so how did you guys meet?_ or _what do you guys do?_ or _is this a double date? is it? I can’t tell and it’s giving me heart palpitations_ – when Jon beats him to the point.

“So, Mike,” he says, swirling his straw around in his drink, “you’re a writer, right? Tell me, does Ronan call _you_ at three a.m. local time and force you to read aloud three different drafts of the same paragraph and then hangs up without a goodbye, only to call you again half an hour later to do the same thing all over again?”

Mike blinks, slowly. “Uh… no?”

Jon turns to glare at Ronan. “You treat him better than you treat me,” he huffs, dramatic and indignant, and Ronan laughs into his drink.

It’s not a bad dinner, all things considered, but it does feel a little like an awkward double date – just, not with him and Ronan. Most of the conversation is dominated by Jon, er, _Lovett_ which, to be fair, is perfectly all right with Mike – Lovett’s hilarious, he’s got a knack for holding court and keeping everyone enraptured with every word – but it feels like everything is just a conversation between him and Ronan. Obviously they’re friends and sometimes friends can be very close and that’s fine but it feels more like…

Ronan’s hand rests on top of Lovett’s and suddenly everything clicks.

Oh. They’re together.

It’s fine. It’s really fine. He could’ve pieced it together with the way Ronan laughs at his jokes or the way Lovett smiles more brightly at him than at anyone else. It’s really fine.

He talks to Elijah, finds out he’s Lovett’s company’s social media manager, promoting their brand and providing all their content. He sees the way he glances over at Lovett every once in a while, and he wishes there was a way for him to say, _hey, I know how you feel_ without sounding too weird.

There isn’t, so instead he laughs at whatever jokes Elijah makes and tries to make him feel welcome.

Everything’s fine, until Elijah gets up to use the restroom and Ronan gets up to take a call and then it’s just him and Lovett sitting alone at the table. Mike wonders if he can hear how hard his heart is thundering in his chest.

“Hey, Mike?” Lovett says, suddenly.

Mike swallows hard. “Yeah?”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just looking at him thoughtfully. And then, “For a New York Times politics reporter, you’re all right.”

Oh. “Oh,” Mike blinks. “Thank you.”

Lovett nods, picking up his drink and taking a short sip. “You should come on the pod sometime,” he says. “Talk to Tommy about national security bullshit or whatever.”

“Okay,” Mike says. He’s not sure what that means but okay, sure. That sounds nice. Probably.

At the end of the night, Mike gets ready to hail a cab but Elijah offers to share his. “Lovett and Ronan are gonna take a walk,” he says.

“Right.” Right, because they’re dating and they’re in love and that’s just how life goes sometimes and he definitely wasn’t developing a bit of a crush on a guy he barely knew because that’s not how it goes.

When he gets home, he doesn’t scroll through any of Tim’s texts asking him how the night went. He just shuts off his phone and goes to sleep.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He gets out of the office late that day. Thanksgiving is just around the corner and since he’s single and in the city, he has to pick up the slack for everyone else. Not that he minds it but working late is always rough.

Mike’s very nearly dozing off in the back of the cab when he feels his phone buzz. _Article finished!_ Ronan says, adding an emoji at the end. _Still in town to celebrate?_

 _Still in town_ , Mike types, _but half asleep so I might not be much fun._

 _We can substitute champagne for coffee_. He sends his address and Mike chuckles a little as he tells the driver the new destination.

Ronan’s apartment is nice, clean, hell of a lot nicer and cleaner than Mike’s own but mostly for a lack of trying – if he bothered to clean it would probably be nice too. He pulls off his jacket and takes off his shoes by the door. “I know I said I’m tired,” he says, “but honestly, I would not say no to a nice stiff drink.”

“I think the strongest thing I have is a vintage red,” Ronan replies. Mike shrugs and follows him to the kitchen, leaning against the counter and watching him pull out the bottle.

“That’s good enough for me.”

He pours out two glasses and raises his own. “To the truth?”

“To disgusting sexual harassers getting what’s coming for them.” They press their drinks together with a satisfying clink and Mike drains his whole. “Fuck, I really needed that.”

“You look like you do,” Ronan hums, chuckling a little when Mike rolls his eyes.

“Gee, Ronan, you sure know how to flatter a guy,” he deadpans.

Ronan shakes his head, he can’t keep the smile off his lips as he takes another short sip of his drink. “You know, it’s kind of shocking how different yet similar you and Lovett are.”

“I highly doubt that,” Mike says. He shakes his head. “I can’t command a room the same way he can. It’s a talent.”

“He did think you were cute, though,” Ronan says, casually, and Mike nearly spits out his drink. They’re standing pretty close together, arms touching, fingers brushing whenever they move one of their glasses. It’s very warm in here.

Mike swallows and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, blinking a couple of times as he looks at Ronan. “Uh, he – he did?”

Ronan nods, his smile a little sharper and a little more deliberate. His eyes are very blue. It’s very easy to get lost in them. “I’m inclined to agree with him,” he says, softly, low in a whisper.

Mike opens his mouth, probably to say something smart like _you do?_ but he doesn’t say anything. Because he can’t. Because Ronan is kissing him.

It’s a very deliberate sort of motion. Ronan’s mouth is against his lips, slowly inviting himself in, while his hand takes the drink out of Mike’s and slides up his arm. He can feel the warmth emanating from every touch of his fingers.

In the back of his mind, there is someone yelling at him for being so foolish, for doing something as ridiculously stupid as this, but there is also the part of his brain that is begging to be touched and held. It’s been an embarrassingly long time.

He takes Ronan’s face in both of his hands and he kisses him back. Despite his intentions, it still comes out tentative, hesitant, he kisses very slowly like he’s trying to figure out where their lips fit together. Ronan puts his hands over Mike’s and takes the lead.

They literally fall into the bedroom, Ronan fumbling for the handle while he presses Mike against the door, before they nearly trip over each other when it swings open. Mike lets out a short laugh as he stumbles backward and unceremoniously lands on the bed.

His hands shake a little as he tries to undo the buttons of his shirt, he misses the first couple of times, but then Ronan’s straddling his hips, his shirt’s already off and he. he. he looks. he. wow, Mike’s pretty sure this is his brain short-circuiting.

It must be clear on his face too because Ronan lets out a short laugh and leans down over him, kissing down his neck while he reaches down to take off his belt. It’s a mix of sensations, soft fingers and teeth grazing against his skin. It’s a lot.

Mike tangles his fingers in Ronan’s hair and struggles to remember how to breathe. “Fuck,” he sighs, voice cracking near the end, and he swears he feels Ronan chuckle a little.

Ronan pulls away when he manages to take off Mike’s belt and toss it on the floor. Lit by the hallway and the lights creeping in from the blinds, his face is flushed and his lips are red and if Mike were a braver man, he’d pull him down and kiss him again. Instead he just lies back and wonders, mouth open and gaping, how did he get here?

Ronan clears his throat. “Have you ever… you know…” he speaks slowly and his voice sounds so much deeper. Different but not bad. “Have you ever done this before?”

Mike nods. He doesn’t think he can do much more than that.

“Okay,” he says. “Turn over.”

It’s a bit difficult, until Mike manages to kick off his pants and get on his knees. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, tries not to think too much, it’s all happening so fast and he really can’t believe it and –

And then Ronan sets a hand on his hip and starts to finger him and Mike can’t think anymore. It’s not his first time but it’s been a long time and it feels so new, he grips the sheets so tightly he thinks he might accidentally rip them.

Ronan takes his time with him, careful and slow, deliberate motions. He presses a kiss to Mike’s lower back when he presses in his second finger, and Mike can only respond with a low moan. He can barely breathe, it’s all so much. He feels his dick harden, leaking into his underwear, and fuck he’s so desperate, he’s _so_ desperate.

When Ronan finally pulls his fingers out, it’s a little bittersweet, but he squeezes his eyes shut and breathes, slowly, as he hears a condom packet rip open. Then Ronan’s fingers are digging into his sides and his short, breathy moans intersperse between Mike’s long and breathless ones.

Mike’s head is spinning. He bucks his hips against Ronan’s as he starts to fuck him harder, starts getting into a rhythm. One of his hands moves to pinch one of Mike’s nipples and he nearly comes from just that alone.

“Oh, fuck,” he sighs. “Oh, fuck, Ronan, _please_.”

“Okay,” is all Ronan says, before he takes Mike’s dick in his hands. It’s completely out of sync with everything else, lighter and softer and teasing, and yet it doesn’t take long for Mike to come. He stops moving, arching his back with his mouth open and silent.

It’s a few moments after, while he’s catching his breath, that he feels Ronan squeeze his hips again and let out a long sigh of his own. He pulls out and lies down beside him and they’re silent for a few moments.

Finally, Mike finds his voice. “I really hope I didn’t get my shirt dirty.”

Ronan giggles, actually giggles, and it sounds as light and boyish as everything about him does. He claps Mike’s arm and slowly begins to sit up. “I’ll be right back,” he says, taking a moment to kiss Mike on the shoulder before he goes.

The bed is very comfortable and Mike is all but ready to pull the covers around him and cuddle up with Ronan for the rest of the night, but then he hears his phone buzz.

He’s already grabbed it from the side table when he realizes it’s not his, it’s Ronan’s, but by then he’s already seen that he has a couple of text messages from Jon Lovett. And he doesn’t mean to read them but they’re right there and he does.

 _So??_  
_How did it go??_  
_Did you kiss? Was he embarrassed? Were you embarrassed?_  
_Tell me everything_

Mike’s already put on his pants and is shoving his shirttails inside them before sliding on the belt, as Ronan returns with two mugs of what smells like very nice tea. (Very nice. Maybe he should stay? No, no, don’t fall for it.)

“You’re leaving already?” Ronan asks, raising a brow. “It’s late. You can stay the night.”

Mike quickly shakes his head. His face is heating up and not in a good way. He clears his throat. “I, um, I got an early day tomorrow at work.”

“Oh.” Ronan looks a little disappointed as he sets the cups down on his dresser. “Well, at least let me call you a cab.”

“No, it’s fine,” Mike says. He takes a deep breath and pauses, for a moment. “Thank you for the wine and… everything. I’ll… I’ll read your article in the morning.” And then he doesn’t stop moving until he’s grabbed his jacket and slid on his shoes and finally steps foot in the cool outside air.

He doesn’t call a cab. He just walks along the streets for a bit, holding his phone in his hand, debating whether or not he should… He should. He calls Tim. It takes a few rings for him to pick up.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” Tim grumbles into the receiver. “I was sound asl–”

“Can I come over?” Mike doesn’t mean to but his voice cracks a little near the end and he swallows hard, fingers digging into his palm. Maybe it’s the exhaustion, maybe it’s the wine, whatever it is, he doesn’t want to be alone right now.

“I – yeah,” Tim says, slowly. “Yeah. Come over and tell me what’s wrong.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He doesn’t read Ronan’s article. Not that he doesn’t want to, but he just doesn’t have time. The news goes on and life keeps moving and shit happens. Shit like one of your colleagues doing one of the shittiest things imaginable and devastating everyone, including some of your close friends.

It’s easy to compartmentalize when you focus on someone else’s problems instead of your own. Especially when it’s a problem like this.

They have a dinner at Maggie’s house, a couple of them, that weekend. The awkwardness is palpable in the air as they all avoid talking about the elephant in the room, but the only other elephant to talk about is Trump and, just like everyone else, Mike is pretty fucking tired of that guy.

He’s standing in the kitchen while everyone else is in the living room, watching whatever’s on TV and trying not to be alone with their thoughts, and he leans back against the door of the fridge as he pulls out his phone.

The text from Ronan came a couple of days ago, when the article came out, but he left it unread until then.

_What did you think?_

Mike opens up his internet browser and pulls up the article. It’s long but he’s a fast reader. He could read it and take the extended olive branch and maybe, just maybe, find it in him for some forgiveness.

“Hey, Mike,” Adam calls out. “Could you grab a couple of beers from the fridge?”

“Yeah,” Mike says. He pockets his phone and turns around.

**Author's Note:**

> shrug emoji


End file.
